It's Never Easy Finding Allies
by wolfhuntsmoon
Summary: Prequel to INEBF. Rated for some language. How on earth does Alex manage to get himself into things like this? Well, he certainly doesn't know!


Right, this is the prequel I mentioned in the last chapter of INEBF. I hope you like it. It is unbetaed, so please bear with any small errors, although do feel free to point them out.

**Side note:** This chapter includes some instances of swearing.

**IMPORTANT**: I may not be updating INEBF for a while. I don't know whether it will go on hiatus or not, but it may well do. The reason. My grandfather died unexpectedly last week, right before my grandma's birthday and Christmas. It was a shock and we are all still very sad, and the funeral was only two days ago. I learnt a lot about him that I didn't know before at the funeral, like the fact he loved to write comedy sketches and plays, and that they were good enough to be performed. So I really wanted to do something in rememberance, to mark his life and talents. I set myself the goal of posting this on Christmas day, but I overran while editing. Still, over 6,000 words in 2 days isn't bad, is it? And that's also why this isn't betaed - I wanted something just from me, with no other input - no offence intended to my wonderful betas True Colours and Sacmis. Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers this Christmas.

Disclaimer: I got CT for Christmas. That's as close as I'm ever going to get, methinks.

* * *

"Down!"

Alex crashed to the floor, head snapping around wildly, searching for the voice that had just saved him from being cut in two by a hail of bullets. Lungs labouring, he gasped for breath in the oven-like heat of the midday sun.

_I have just run over a mile to escape being killed_. _I am __**not**__ going to let it go to waste now. _

Nonetheless, his current situation was undeniably grim. The mysterious ally was nowhere to be seen or heard. He desperately hoped whoever it was had not been injured or killed, because he needed the help. And he wasn't particularly fussy about who helped him, so long as he got out of this.

He threw himself to the side to avoid the figure that had just lunged out from behind the side of the building. The figure, man or woman he couldn't tell, was swathed in long burnoose, and had obscured their face using a face cloth wrapped around the head. Alex just thanked his lucky stars the idiot hadn't come dressed for a fight. Honestly, it was insanely easy to grab hold of the cloak and knock the person out with a well placed elbow. Hoping he hadn't been seen, Alex continued looking for a way to orientate himself. When he had managed to free himself from his captors, he'd been so relieved, he had simply picked a direction and started running, determined to get as much distance between him and the terrorists as possible. However, he'd failed to consider that they would know the locality well, and that he had probably left an obvious trail to follow. It had not been one of his better ideas, and had resulted in his current situation.

Suddenly, everything blurred unexpectedly, and for one nauseating instant, he thought he would collapse, be sick, or both. Lactic acid burned in every muscle of his body, an insistent reminder that he didn't have much left – physically or mentally. He was still completely off balance from the sleep deprivation tactics they'd used against him more than three days ago now. Or was it three? It could be less. Or more. Alex wasn't really sure of anything now, except the fact he did _not _want to become a guest of the al-Gama'a al-Islamiyya ever again. He gritted his teeth. Now was not the time to think. Now was the time to act.

Creeping towards the next building that looked like it might not fall to bits the minute he stepped in, he scanned the area, continuously on the lookout for danger. That was when he saw it. The glint in the sunlight, out of the corner of his eye, on the left.

Without thinking, he threw himself behind the nearest wall, out of the sniper's line of sight. But no gunshot came, except for the sporadic bursts that came every so often fairly close to him. But that wasn't his immediate problem. Confused, he risked a glance round to see what was happening. Nothing was immediately visible – the streets looked deserted enough. But when you looked closer, the sinister flickers of movement within the ground levels of the low houses in the street told a different story.

Alex looked for the sniper. He was still there – high, on an isolated roof that was easily defensible. _He knows what he's doing. _But the sniper wasn't even facing Alex, he was almost at a right angle to his position. He was aiming. Even at a distance of two hundred metres, Alex knew it in his bones. The way his head was cocked, his stance unmoving – the way the barrel didn't shake and then from the awful crack of a bullet, whistling towards its target at over two thousand miles an hour. Alex hoped the sniper had missed, but the likelihood of that happening was similar to Alex's chances of being teleported back to his bedroom in Chelsea, right now.

Alex wanted this over with, now. His nerves were wrecked, he was severly dehydrated, and close to collapsing. His head throbbed every time his heart beat, and his old scar was sending shooting pains down his left arm. He knew, in the cold, calculating corner of his mind, that he was more than likely going to be captured again. Dread trickled into his heart. He needed to get out.

* * *

A sudden crackle of gunfire brought him cowering to the ground again. Coughing violently to expel the sand he'd inhaled, he tensed. The sniper had moved, and couldn't be seen from where he was. After his previous experience, he decided the sniper was the greatest threat, and cautiously moved out from behind the wall, down an alleyway…

And into the middle of a war zone.

He didn't know who was more surprised, him or the other combatants. Some, he saw, wore military desert fatigues, but nothing that could identify them to any specific country. _A covert operation, then. _Until Alex saw otherwise, he would have to assume they were just as much a threat as the terrorists he could quite clearly see sheltering behind a wall, who were now shouting to one another and pointing in his direction. One of them was furiously gabbling into a radio, directing the others to continue the fight. Alex froze.

_Where was the sniper? _

His answer came in a searing branded line of pain, as a bullet grazed his thigh. Alex had been extremely fortunate to be hidden by the wall, so the sniper didn't have a clear target to aim for. But Alex knew that this injury, although minor, on top of all the others, would deplete his strength even more. He limped into a small shop front, thanking whatever being that had decided to take pity on him for the fact that the fighters were too occupied with each other to come after him, an ordinary looking boy. At first glance, at least. Hiding behind baskets of fruit, he assessed the damage. It was, as he had suspected, fairly small, but was bleeding sluggishly. Bad sign – he was even more dehydrated than he'd previously thought. The blood should have been much less viscous. Tearing a strip off his shirt, he tied it tightly round his leg. _It'll have to do for now._

He wriggled underneath the boxes of fruit, tentatively approaching a new vantage point. Once he could see most of the street and its surroundings he stopped. First, he found the sniper. He had moved again, and obvious sign he was experienced, or at least well trained. Alex found him without too much difficulty though, and noted the position. He had no intention of giving the sniper a second chance.

* * *

The rhythmic thump of feet on the earth warned him that he was close to discovery. He could see a solitary figure was approaching his hiding place, methodically checking all the doorways and windows. Alex felt despair and panic bubble up in his gut. Ruthlessly he squashed it. Now was not the time to break down. That could happen after the mission was over, when he was back with Jack. Safe, caring, sympathetic Jack. Dazedly, he shook himself from the memory. It was getting worse. He was finding it hard to focus and concentrate. Here of all places! He felt sure for a moment he was hallucinating. This nightmarish situation couldn't be real?

But it _was_ real, all too real. And time was running out as the terrorist advanced. Alex had no advantage here. The man was dressed for combat. Alex was still on the floor, and couldn't risk moving for fear of being seen. He searched the shop for anything that could even the odds. There was nothing – except the knife he had managed to steal from a guard when he had escaped earlier. Taking it out, he gripped it tightly. The cool hilt gave him some confidence back. While he was sure the other carried a gun, it was not visible. Alex was already armed and prepared. He had the element of surprise, and that split second difference in reaction had saved his life more times than he cared to count. Alex had learned to wait, like a cobra, for exactly the right moment before he struck. Just as the terrorist was leaning over the stall to check underneath, Alex _pushed_.

The man fell forward heavily, not expecting an attack from below. He crashed onto the stall, collapsing it and sending fruit flying everywhere. As he had pushed the man's feet, Alex had barrelled forward and launched himself at his would-be attacker. Before the terrorist had time to take in what was happening to him, Alex was sitting on his chest, knees pinning the man's arms to the floor, and a knife held to his throat. Prepared to force the answer of a safe way out of the town from him, Alex leaned in.

He was not prepared for the terrorist to yelp his name in a familiar voice. A very familiar voice.

"Alex!"

Oh_ shit_.

"Alex! It's me! Get off, you're crushing my arms. Jesus Christ, where have you been! Mrs. Jones and the rest of us have been going spare!"

The face of Ben Daniels, also known as Fox, peered up at him. Numb, Alex slid bonelessly to the floor, relief turning his muscles to jelly. Or it could have been the lack of adrenaline catching up with him. When he next looked up, Ben was half crouching, massaging his upper arms. Looking at Alex, he raised an eyebrow. Alex sent him a sheepish smile.

"You," he pronouced, "are lucky I didn't have my gun out, or you would probably have a rather large hole in you somewhere."

Alex smirked.

"And just where was this gun when I nailed your arse to the floor?"

Ben had the grace to look slightly ashamed at being so thoroughly humiliated by a teenager. Then, being able to look Alex over properly for the first time, he took in Alex's appearance. The boy in question knew it wasn't a pretty sight. He was bruised pretty much all over, both from his 'questioning' and escape, had dark rings under his eyes from lack of sleep, was pale, and probably bleeding from the many scratches he just _knew_ he'd managed to acquire, even though he couldn't feel them. Yet.

Ben's face now sported a large frown, and he took in the tremor in Alex's hands, as well as his obvious exhaustion in the blink of an eye. Concern marred the normally emotionless mask both soldiers and spies presented to the world.

But a particularly close crackle of gunfire, and an explosion that sounded suspiciously like a grenade going off, had both males wary, and closed to anything that might weaken them. On full alert they moved out of the shop, slowly, but not before Ben sent Alex an assessing stare. Seeing it, Alex shook his head grimly. He knew he was in bad shape, and so did Ben, but they had to get out of this before he could get treatment. Alex glanced around the vicinity as they moved cautiously into the open street, checking for the sniper. He had moved again, unsurprisingly enough, and was nowhere to be seen. Alex briefly wished his enemies were not as well trained as they were.

* * *

They continued up the street, away from the main battle, ducking and weaving into side streets, utilising every last ounce of cover they could. Being out in the open was more dangerous than risking a terrorist seeing them inside a building. At least a wall or two, no matter how flimsy, afforded some protection. _Wait. Did Ben know of the sniper? He was away from the main battle area when I saw the sniper taking aim, if he came across me in that street. _He was probably responsible for covert surveillance and intelligence in his unit, after being loaned to MI6, Alex decided. It was also better to be safe than sorry. Sidling up to Ben's shoulder, he tapped him lightly as the man in question checked for any hostiles. Ben started slightly, then looked at him questioningly.

"Have you seen the sniper yet?" Alex breathed, careful to keep his voice soft and low. It was less likely to be noticed that way.

Ben shook his head.

"No. The last time I saw him was when he was on the roof of that house over there." He pointed to the place Alex had seen the killer fire from. " He hit one of ours in the chest, but I think he'll be alright. We've all got body armour on." Alex sighed, relieved that the target was alive at least, even though he was liable to be in a world of pain. When Cray had shot him on Air Force One, Alex had had a plate sized, deep purple bruise on his chest, as well as cracked ribs. It hadn't faded for weeks afterwards, even though the bullet hadn't so much as scraped the skin. "Come on. We need to keep moving. I was sent to find you, y'know, and now I've got you, I'm not about to let you out of my sight. I remember what happened the last time that happened, and the state you turned up in after." He sent Alex an almost protective look, then sweeping the street one last time, gave Alex the signal to move forward again.

Once they were inside the next building, Ben turned to Alex, face serious.

"Ok Alex?" Alex nodded, confused by the question and why they had stopped so unexpectedly. " We had a plan to get you out before I was sent to look for you, but it's been royally screwed up. We wanted to get in and get out quietly, but you'd already escaped. Well done on that, by the way. If that had happened, we were going to do a grid search, but we found trouble sooner than anticipated, and nearly everyone is involved in some bust up or another. The only thing we can do now is to RV with our designated unit, at a point fairly near the heli's that are waiting to airlift us out. Got that?"

Alex nodded. Words were unnecessary.

"Good. I have a radio, and I'm going to try make contact now. I need you to keep watch, and make sure no-one manages to trace the signal. Mrs. Jones briefed us about this group, but MI6 don't know that much about them – they need all the information you've got. Unfortunately for us, that also means we don't know how they work, what weapons they have, or how advanced they are technologically." As he finished the impromptu briefing, Ben's face was grim. Alex didn't feel much better. Now he knew why the terrorists wanted him back so badly. Not to question him, but to kill him so his knowledge wasn't passed on to MI6 and security services around the world. Silently, he got up and settled near the door, hidden from outside eyes, but with a clear view of the street. Watchful. Waiting.

* * *

An hour later, and Alex was fighting to keep from falling asleep. Ben had made contact briefly, but they had been told all units were engaged, and to just sit tight until called for. Then they would be given the RV co-ordinates and would meet with their escort to get the hell out of here. Privately, Alex liked this plan. A lot. He was quite content _not_ to go off risking his life, thank you very much, Mr. Blunt. _I suppose I sound quite bitter for a 14 year old, _he thought wryly. _But then again_, _I think I have the right to be_. He stretched stiff limbs and then settled. Ben was watching him. Alex knew it even though he was facing away from him. It seemed to be a Rider talent – Ian, too, had always known when someone was staring at him.

Alex shook himself slightly. The memories were creeping back in, and that was not good. Sentimentality got you killed, emotions got you killed. Alex knew this well. He had often used this knowledge against his enemies. Invariably, they all seemed to end up dead.

Jerking, Alex heard footsteps nearing their hiding place. Cautiously, he peered out through a hole in the wall. It was a group of three men, all carrying AK-47s, the prime weapon of choice for any guerrilla terrorist. _So, __**not**__ friendly then. _Alex sized them up, as they continued down the street. They were searching every building – so they were obviously looking for something. Probably him, considering what Ben had confessed earlier. They were fairly thorough in the search, he would give them that. A methodical and systematic search of each of the premises meant they would be found unless they were able to leave without being seen or heard. Thankfully, they were sloppy in other areas. Despite the firefight occurring only a few hundred metres away, they had no advance scout, or sentries when they entered a building. _Perhaps Ben and I can sneak away when they all go into that large house halfway down the street… _Alex turned to Ben, who had, unbeknownst to Alex, spotted the group, broken off yet another radio communication with control, and come over to the opening to get a better look at the three men.

"They don't look like they're primary fighters. Two of the guys are a lot older than your average jihad 'warrior' – and the other seems to be new to this." Ben's quiet analysis fitted perfectly with what Alex had observed.

"I agree. A practice mission for the younger one I think. This group is well organised, I know that much. They have a set hierarchy, and a good training scheme. They were talking about a sort of field experience program when I was there – I guess this is what they meant." Alex's whispered reply was measured, as he tried to dredge up every little bit of knowledge he'd managed to glean about the group, that might help them.

Ben nodded, and then looked at him quizzically. Alex thought for a moment, before he remembered one thing that the group had always stressed.

"They're trained to work together, but the philosophy of the organisation talks a lot about each person on their own. It sort of makes them bad at working together for real. And they don't react well to orders – a lot of them are _really_ arrogant." Alex knew this for a fact, as he had seen plenty of that sort of attitude. He shrugged. "I didn't get to find out that much about the operational side things while I was there. There were…complications." He smiled sardonically. _Complications indeed._

Ben frowned thoughtfully, assimilating and processing the new information, turning over the different angles of attack in his mind. Alex's point about teamwork could be a possible weakness for them to exploit – however, it could also mean the group had a greater flexibility – which was bad if they were going to be pursued, rather than the pursuers.

Other factors had to be taken into consideration as well. This particular group was a local branch, and would therefore know the area, and its people, far better than Ben and Alex. Again, bad if they were being pursued.

He sneaked a quick glance at Alex. The teenager was pale, even in the glare of the afternoon sun, unhealthily so. Ben was no medic, but he knew Alex needed out of here as quickly as possible, and a safe route to a hospital. And the only way for that to happen was to find their escort, and get to the waiting helis. But the closer he went without directions – because so far all he had was 'the south-easterly area of the town,' – the more likely the radio was to go off where enemy ears could hear, exposing the both of them and risking death or capture. The dilemma loomed in his mind, agonisingly uncertain. Each scenario had an equal chance of going tits up at the slightest provocation, and none of the numerous plans he had run through had an even vaguely certain chance of success. _Time to wing it then._

* * *

Alex yelped in pain. A random piece of shrapnel had come flying past, nicking the side of his face. He refused to think of how many near-misses he had to his name now, as it would, frankly, be a terrifyingly long list. Ben had disappeared in the maelstrom of violence unfolding right in front of him only a few seconds before. Alex sincerely hoped their half baked plan worked. It consisted entirely of:

Run, and don't get killed.

In that order.

_A typical 'me' plan then_. Ben had been hesitant over whether to go or not, but after Alex had told him that it was either come, or be left behind for the terrorists to find, he had been the first out the door. For safety reasons, of course. It had actually been laughably easy to get out of the shop without being seen. They had simply waited until the group had disappeared inside one of the larger houses, and slipped out a side door and onto _another _little alleyway. They had somehow found their way back into the main battlefield. (Alex wasn't quite sure how, but thought the RPGs going off had been a rather large clue.) Apparently, this was where they were supposed to meet their escort – Alex would have cheerfully _throttled_ the _moron_ who'd dreamed _that_ idea up. And thus, his current situation.

Gripping his knife tightly, Alex plunged into the fight. He could see glimpses of Ben – once they made eye contact, and he jerked his head in the direction Alex supposed the were meant to be heading towards. There was little either could do for the other, except stay alive.

* * *

Swiveling round, after ducking yet another imaginary bullet he thought he'd heard the sniper fire – never mind he hadn't even seen him yet – Alex wondered how much longer he could go on. His knife was dripping blood – thankfully not his own, and the handle was slick with the red ooze mingled with his sweat. He broke that train of thought viciously before the urge to vomit became too strong, and instead focused on the sudden appearance of a figure blocking his way. Surprisingly, the man was of average height and weight – face again, disguised with what looked like an old sheet. Alex would have laughed had he had the breath. But he moved with an assured step, and did not seem to regard Alex as just a minor threat. For that, Alex upped his assessment of the man's level of competence, and his evaluation of the level of danger he presented. He sank into a loose fighting stance, weight spread evenly, with his centre of gravity lowered. Already his guard was up, the motion fluid and instinctive.

The man smiled – or grimaced – the head cover made it hard to tell – and spoke two words that made Alex's blood run cold.

"Alex Rider."

He tilted his head, sizing the boy up. Then he gave a dark smile and was gone. Shaken, Alex checked for the man in the melee all around him. He had seemingly vanished. But Alex had a nasty feeling that he would see the strange, threatening figure again. And soon.

But he still had a way to go, although he could see Ben frantically waving at him, and pointing to the left. Confused, he obediently started bearing left, wondering whether this was the way to the new pick up point.

His answer came in the form of the twin screams of two F-16 Fighting Falcon jet fighters. Sleek and deadly, these multirole dogfighting aircraft are equipped with an internal 20mm M61 Vulcan cannon, and up to 11 missiles on various hardpoints affixed to the fuselage and wings. These particular planes carried one of the most widely used air to ground missiles, the AGM-114 Hellfire missile, normally used by attack helicopters. Operated by 20 different countries, the thermobaric weapon utilised a deadly shockwave of pressure to kill and incapacitate to a far greater degree than a normal missile. Its laser guidance delivery system was accurate enough that a skilled controller could put one through a window from 8 kilometres away, while it packed enough explosive in its 9 kilogram warhead to flatten an entire street. The fighters had just fired one each, right into the terrorist's ranks.

* * *

The explosion was immense. Alex felt like every cell in his body had been put through a blender. His vision blurred, and his ears wouldn't stop ringing, even as the terrible throbbing weight of the shockwave disappeared from his chest, allowing him to drink in the air. As everything stabilised, and returned to something resembling normal, Alex realised he was still finding it difficult to breathe. _Why?_ He looked up. He was on the floor. And there seemed to be part of a wall on top of him. _Oh_. _That's why. _

"Fuck!"

The short, sharp swearword abruptly cut through any leftover muzziness, and let Alex connect the voice that had saved him earlier with this one – it had been Wolf who had shouted at him to get down. At the time it _had_ seemed familiar. He could see out of the corner of his eye, the soldier huddled behind a partially demolished wall, clutching a bleeding jaw. There was one other with him, but Alex couldn't focus enough to see if it was someone he knew. Now though, Alex was stuck, and there was no-one to help him out. With much grunting and cursing, he wriggled out from under a particularly heavy section of earthen wall that had been suffocating him until then, and limped over to the only piece of protection he could see; a rusted, burnt out shell of a car.

"Just like the fucking Americans, can't tell a friend from who needs to be blasted into itty bitty little pieces – oh for fucks sake, there's no use trying to save it, the whole thing is bloody smashed!"

Alex smiled slightly. It was good to know some things never changed, and Wolf was one of them. Silently he sent a prayer to whatever deity might be listening that there would be no more surprises today, and that he would actually be able to reach Wolf and find Ben unharmed. _On second thoughts, that sounds pretty unlikely to happen with my luck. _He started working his way towards the source of the noise, or at least its general direction. It had gone silent now, and he hoped they had stayed put. As they were special forces, Alex doubted if he would notice if they had moved, but still. It was nice, if foolish, to hope.

He rounded the corner, hands carefully displayed to show they were empty of any form of weaponry. For the first time in his – admittedly short – life, he heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of a gun barrel. Or, the person holding it.

"Cub?!?!"

Oh, it was _goood_ to be back.

"What the _fuck_ are you _doing_ here?!?"

Then again, perhaps not.

"Looking for you. And Fox."

Taken aback only for a moment by the brusque response, Wolf immediately swung into action. Waving forward one of the other men, he sent him out to check whether their position, or its extra member, had been noticed. Alex was grabbed, pushed into a corner, and made to sit down under a camouflage net before he 'gave the damn OP away.' A heavy thump signaled Wolf's arrival back from dishing out orders.

"Just what are you doing here?"

Alex sighed. A question like that was loaded heavier than a twenty tonne naval artillery gun. Best to keep it simple, and current, then.

"I was with Fox. We got separated. Then I saw you, and thought you might be able to help me out."

A considering silence followed. Uncomfortable, but not wnting to show it, Alex spoke again.

"Any news of Fox?"

Wolf shifted slightly. _That's a no, then._

"The last we heard from him was a radio contact about fifteen minutes ago."

Alex reeled with shock… fifteen minutes… barely a quarter of an hour, yet to him it had felt like days. He swallowed, wondering how long it had truly been since he was captured, and replied.

"I was with him then. We were over to the north west, in one of the shopping streets. We got separated when we encountered the fight… a while ago."

Wolf thought for a moment.

"Our radio got busted in the explosion," he muttered, grumbling. "The back up was damaged as well. We'll take you with us when we're given the signal to pull out, but until then, stay here."

He rose and ran doubled over to his team-mate. After a quick, whispered conversation Alex would bet any money was about him, he returned to his original postion, close to Alex. Tired, Alex leaned back against the wall, content to hide in relative safety for a while. He didn't even realise when he fell asleep.

* * *

Half an hour later and Alex jerked awake as a rough hand shook his shoulder. Wincing in pain, he curled inwards to protect his vital organs from the attack he felt sure was about to come from the interrogator. Instead, he simply heard an annoyed sigh.

"Cub. Move."

Sheepishly, Alex uncurled and forced himself not to flush in embarrassment at his reaction to Wolf's touch, once he had realised he was not still a prisoner. The man said nothing, but fixed him with a discerning stare. Alex fought the urge to squirm, and merely raised a questioning eyebrow.

"C'mon. The signal just came in. All units are pulling back to be casevacced out by the helis. You included. Apparently, you've got what the higher-ups want." His tone left Alex in no doubt that Wolf thoroughly disapproved of the way things were being handled by his seniors. But the man was a professional and showed nothing concrete in his expression. He nodded and followed Wolf over to the huddle of the other men, itching at his gritty eyes as he went.

"We're leaving in less that five minutes. Be ready to go and don't get in the way. We're headed to the old square – it's the only place big enough for the helis to land." Wolf murmured. Alex acknowledged the instructions with a curt grunt, limping away from the group to sit down again. Tiredness nagged at him, insisting he lie down and sleep, soon. He knew the urge had to be resisted, but _God_it was hard. He looked up at the flurry of movement as the men shrugged on backpacks and arranged the OP until it looked as it it had been abandoned for months. Mutely following Wolf, and sandwiched between two other burly SAS men, Alex felt slightly secure. Not by much, but he knew that the soldiers were competent, and the one time they had been called in, they had done an admirable job of protecting him. After all, he was still here.

* * *

They filed out into the shaded streets, the whitewashed buildings looming menacingly overhead. With a sickening chill, Alex remembered the sniper – this would be the perfect place for an attack. And he couldn't forget his unnerving encounter with the mysterious man, either. Remembering the incident gave him goosebumps despite the pounding heat, and he wondered what would come of it. Alex had learned to trust his instincts, and they told him nothing good was to come from that confrontation.

They turned the corner and crept forward. Alex had no idea of where they were, or how long it would take to reach the square, but the soldiers were confident and untroubled, so he let it be. So long as they didn't start frowning at the map, he was content to just tag along. The whole group kept a careful eye out for any possible threat. Alex watched the rooftops and windows in particular, ever wary of the potential of a bullet in the back. One of the other men he didn't know saw the way he scrutinised his surroundings, and shot him an approving glance. Alex flashed him a wolfish grin, unsettling the man, who was obviously unused to dealing with teenagers full stop, never mind teenage spies.

They were nearly there – the helicopter was coming in to land – and Alex finally allowed a shred of hope to enter his heart. The soldiers increased their pace unconsciously, as relieved as Alex was to see their transport arrive. That was probably why they did not see the figure concealing itself on the building directly opposite their approaching group. But Alex felt the same chill – the chill of death approaching – that he had had just before a sniper's bullet had nearly taken his life. His head snapped up, an intense feeling of déjà vu enveloping him. In a split second, Alex took in all of the sensory information available – the sight of the sniper, the flash of sunlight glancing off the barrel, and again the cold, sure certainty that he was aiming. Aiming at them. Aiming at the leader of the group. Aiming at… Wolf!

Suddenly time seemed to snap back to its normal speed. Alex darted out, not even faltering as he roared the word that had saved his life earlier.

"Down!"

In spite of the fact he was a teenager, in spite of the fact they had never met him before, in spite of the fact he had not proved his worth to them, the SAS hit the floor as fast as if a comrade had warned them. Alex, though, knew that for Wolf, time had run out – the few metres difference was the difference between life and death – just like stepping off the curb at precisely the right moment. Expecting the searing pain of a bullet to hit any moment, he crashed into Wolf's muscular frame with all the strength he could muster. The sinister crack of the rifle firing came just as the breath fled Wolf's lungs as he crunched into the ground. Alex could almost imagine the wind of the bullet's passage ruffling his hair. He opened his eyes to see Wolf's wide-eyed stare boring into his face, an expression of bewilderment and – was it gratitude?

Then they were up and running, the last dregs of his strength propelling him onward to the haven of the helicopter. Ragged gasps of his breathing filled his ears, and his only thought to get – on – the – helicopter…

He crashed onto the smooth, burning metal belly of the helicopter, relief flooding him so badly he was left insensate for the seconds it took the other soldiers to leap in on top of him. Then all feeling returned, and with it the crushing weight of two heavily muscled, fully armed SAS soldiers. With a pained grunt, as his ribs made their displeasure known, he pushed ineffectually at the bodies piled on top of him. The sound seemed to awaken them, and they quickly rolled off with hasty apologies. Alex pushed himself up with trembling arms, and half rolled onto a bench, weak and limp as cooked spaghetti. A warm hand caught him just as he _knew_he was about to fall onto the floor in an undignified heap. One final effort allowed him to raise his head enough to catch Wolf's inscrutable gaze.

Before he succumbed to the inviting blackness tugging at the edges off his vision, he caught one short sentence he'd never thought he'd hear, especially from Wolf.

"Thanks Cub."

* * *

Military lingo:

RV- rendezvous – meeting point

Heli – helicopter

Casevac – evacuating casualties(I think Alex qualifies on age alone, but he's injured here as well)

OP – SAS – observation post


End file.
